What really matters
by espiyo
Summary: Hello, newbie here! Hope I've done this right as I've been so impressed by some of the stories here I just dived straight in! So: apologies for any breaches of etiquette, and for any errors, which will be due to the v large gaps in my Spooks knowledge...
1. Chapter 1

Ruth had just sunk beneath the bubbles when she heard the doorbell. For a moment she considered getting out of the warmth and padding downstairs, then she reconsidered and let herself slide slowly under the water. As she resurfaced the bell rang again. And again. It must be the lad next door, locked himself out yet again. Suppressing a curse she clambered out of the bath and grabbed the towelling dressing gown off the hook behind the door. Tying it tightly around her, she went downstairs.

In the hallway she paused. The silhouette through the glass was too tall, too broad. Too..

Wishing she'd taken the time to dry her hair or throw on some clothes, she opened the door. 'Harry!'

He looked exhausted; pale and gaunt, and he obviously hadn't shaved for a couple of days. His eyes flickered up and settled somewhere around her knees. 'Sorry. I...sorry, I know it's your day off. I just...'

She stepped back, opening the door wider. 'Come in.' Following him into the lounge she caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and, mortified, brushed a clump of bubbles from her hair. He was standing in the middle of the room, hands shoved into his armpits, shoulders hunched.

'Can I take your coat?'

'Hmm? Oh. Yes, thank you.' She took the macintosh from him and hung it up in the hall. When she returned he was still standing there, his mind obviously a million miles away.

Gently she touched his arm. 'Sit down, Harry, you look exhausted. I'll put the kettle on. Would you like something to eat?'

He flinched. 'No. No thanks. But tea, tea would be lovely.'

She smiled, knowing he'd really rather have a whisky, or a coffee at a push. She cursed herself for not having picked up a bottle of Laphraoig last time she'd done a supermarket shop. Putting the kettle on to boil she glanced through the oven door at the casserole she'd put in earlier. A few hours to go yet, but it should be delicious. Well, so she'd been promised; it was Dimitri's grandmother's recipe and he'd said if she didn't enjoy it he'd do her filing every day for the next month.

'Anything I can do to help?' Harry stood in the doorway.

'It's just tea! But you can talk to me while the kettle boils.'

He gave a watery smile. 'Sure.'

Ruth felt helpless. The depths of his grief, his despair, was palpable. She hadn't a clue what to do or say. She went over to him, rested a hand on his arm. 'I'm so sorry, Harry.'

He didn't ask her how she knew; for all the nature of their job some things were never going to stay private. He tried to smile. She could see he was on the verge of tears. She cupped his face in her hands. 'You are allowed to cry, Harry. You're allowed.'

He threw his head backwards. 'Oh, Christ, Ruth. Oh Christ!' And at that, the dam wall burst, and over 20 years of hurt and guilt and pain and regret spilled over and he cried as he had never done before. Ruth did the only thing she could and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her. Harry, his body racked with sobs, clung to her, barely aware of her gently rubbing his back, whispering consoling words in his ear. The water in the kettle had boiled and cooled by the time he calmed down and gently disentangled himself. He dragged his palms across his blotchy, tear streaked face.

'Oh god, Ruth, I'm so sorry.' He sagged back against the wall, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. She whispered 'it's okay, it's okay', one hand still rubbing his arm as if to calm him. After a few moments he took a deep breath and regarded her anew. For the first time the informality of her attire struck him. 'You're in your dressing gown. You're not poorly, are you? Did I just get you out of bed?'

She brushed her thumb across his cheek, eradicating a stray tear. 'No, I'm fine. I was just having a bath. As he started to apologise she gently touched her fingers to his swollen lips. 'Hush. It's fine.' She switched the kettle back on and took his hand. 'Come on, let's get a comfy seat while that boils.'

This time she sat down on the sofa beside him, curling her legs up underneath her and taking his hand in hers.

'So how was the funeral?' she asked gently.

He blew out a wobbly breath. 'You're supposed to say 'as you'd expect' to that kind of question, but this, it was a million miles from what I could have expected. Not that I ever expected to...to...bury my daughter.' His voice cracked, but he carried on. 'It was bad enough that she...that she was dead, but to bury her in a strange country, thousands of miles from where she was born, where she grew up, where her friends and family are. I mean...she had lots of friends there and they were lovely to us, but...I didn't understand what was going on. All I knew was that Catherine was dead and that the only people that were there to mourn her who knew her, really knew her, were her mother and me.' He turned an anguished face towards her. 'I mean, that's not right, is it? That's not right.'

Ruth's hand slowly stroked to and fro across his upper back. 'I'm sure the others that were there...her friends...I'm sure they knew her, and loved her. Just because you haven't known someone from childhood doesn't mean they matter any less to you, that the relationship you have isn't so important.'

Harry's head shot up, obviously startled at what he took to be a rebuke. 'Thanks, Ruth.' He didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

'No, Harry.' Ruth sighed and tried again. 'What I mean is that for Catherine to have explicitly instructed that she be buried out there means that the place must've meant a lot to her, and if the place meant a lot to her it stands to reason it was because of the friends she had there, the memories they shared.'

'So London means nothing to her then? Her friends and family here? Is that what you're saying?'

'No, it's not what I'm saying and you know it. I'm saying...Harry, I'm saying that...oh god, I don't know what I'm saying, other than that this is no indictment of you or Jane or her life here. She was loved, Harry, and she loved in return and whoever and wherever that was, surely that's all that matters?'

Harry sagged back against the sofa. 'I suppose so.'

Ruth uncurled herself and stood up. 'Kettle's boiled. I'll just make that tea.' She padded through to the kitchen and retrieved a couple of mugs from the mug tree, putting a generous splash of milk and extra sugar in Harry's before adding an English Breakfast teabag. After some deliberation, she put a herbal teabag in hers. Tea made, she shouted through to ask if Harry wanted any biscuits. No response. Assuming he'd got engrossed in the newspaper she picked up the mugs and returned to the lounge. Placing his on the coffee table in front of him she repeated the question, then glancing up at him realised he'd fallen asleep.

'Oh, Harry,' she whispered. Leaning over, she kissed his brow, furrowed even in sleep, and taking her tea with her went back upstairs to resurrect her bath.


	2. Chapter 2

As usual, she fell asleep, but for once she awoke while the water was still warm. Topping it up a little she washed her hair and was languorously soaping her legs when she heard Harry's voice.

'Ruth?'

'I'm in the bath,' she shouted.

She heard his footsteps on the stairs and for one panic stricken minute wondered if she'd locked the door. He wouldn't. Surely not? Then she could sense him standing on the other side of it.

'Sorry. I fell asleep.'

Resuming her soaping, Ruth smiled. 'I did notice.'

'Sorry. I haven't got much sleep the last few nights.'

'Stop apologising Harry. It's fine. You looked exhausted. I'm glad you got a bit of rest. Anyway, it's obviously the day for it as I fell asleep in here too.'

A heartbeat of a pause. 'Did you?' Harry rested his forehead against the door as the image of her floated into his head.

'Yes, I usually do. Sometimes sleep better in here than in bed.'

'Bit bloody dangerous, isn't it? You could drown.'

'Nah.' Ruth sponged off the last of the soap and leaned over to pull out the plug. 'What time is it?'

'Nearly five. Sorry. I'll get out of your hair.'

Stepping out of the bath Ruth pulled her towel from the radiator and began to dry herself, feeling ridiculously self-conscious despite the fact that the door was solid wood, and for all the fabulous gadgetry bandied about in the James Bond films, Five hadn't quite invented x ray specs yet. 'I've a chicken casserole in the oven. Dimitri's grandmother's recipe. You can stay to help me try it, if you like. It's due to come out at six.'

Again a heartbeat of a pause. 'I don't want to put you to any trouble.'

Vigorously towelling her hair. 'It's no trouble, Harry. There's plenty. And I'd enjoy the company.'

Harry was unable to prevent himself smiling for the first time in days. 'That would be lovely. I'll just nip out and get some wine while you're...er...getting dressed.'

She heard him clattering down the stairs, then the front door banging shut behind him. Hanging her towel back over the radiator she went through to her bedroom, pondering her options. Naked, she opened the wardrobe door and scanned her outfits. Too smart, Too casual. Too casual. Too casual. Work. Work. Work. Despairing, she was about to give up and opt for jeans and a top when her fingers closed on an unfamiliar fabric. A pale blue cotton dress that she'd bought a few months back for the summer they'd never had. Spaghetti straps, a sweetheart neckline with buttons, fitted down to the waist then it flared out to just below knee length. With her hair up, bit of make up, a nice necklace, high heels...a skoosh of Chanel...

As she opened the front door, Harry was rabbiting cheerfully about the travails of trying to park at Sainsbury's on a Sunday, but as he looked up and saw her framed in the doorway he faltered. Flustered, Ruth glanced down at her front. 'What's the matter? Have I got tomato sauce all down this or something?'

Somehow Harry's lips formed the words. 'No...no...Ruth, you look beautiful.'

She was conscious she was blushing. 'Oh, this old thing?" she laughed, then winced at the cliche.

Smiling, he eased past her and headed through to the kitchen, laden with several carrier bags. 'I got you a few bits and bobs so you wouldn't have to do a food shop during the week.'

'Thanks, that's very kind of you. How much do I owe you?'

'Don't be silly. You're treating me to Sunday dinner, you put up with me bawling like a two year old and falling asleep on you...least I could do.' He lifted the bags onto the kitchen table and began to unpack.

And somehow they eased into cosy domesticity, him emptying the shopping bags, her putting away the contents, secretly impressed at his take on what she might have bought, particularly the large bar of Galaxy and the bottle of Sancerre. The pouches of Sheba amused her. 'Fidget will never touch the tinned stuff again,' she reprimanded him, smiling.

'Give it to Scarlet then, she'll eat anything.'

'Like her dad, huh?'

'Oi!' Grinning, Harry wagged an index finger at her.

'So, let me get this straight. You expect me to bankrupt myself feeding my cat premium catfood and to feed your dog as well?'

He handed her a box of eggs. 'Sounds good to me. Feed me occasionally as well and you've got a deal.'

Ruth laughed and Harry blushed, smiling tentatively as his stomach somersaulted.

Closing the fridge door she turned to him. 'Okay, dinner should be about ready. I'll just put the plates in to warm. Can you set the table? Mats are in that cupboard over there, cutlery in the drawer to the right of the sink.'

Amused at being ordered about, Harry did as he was bid, and ten minutes later they were sitting opposite each other at the dining table, for some reason their ease of a few minutes ago replaced by silence and awkwardness.

'So...eat!' said Ruth, with forced brightness.


	3. Chapter 3

They ate in silence, Ruth desperately trying to think of something witty or interesting to say, Harry just enjoying the first decent home cooked meal he'd eaten in weeks.

'So...did you manage to get hold of Graham?'

Harry's fork clattered onto his plate. He looked up at her, perplexed at her choice of topic. "No,' he said quietly. 'The entire resources of British Intelligence at my disposal and I couldn't find my own son.' He grimaced. 'I assume he's still alive but I don't know if he's even in this country anymore. He could be anywhere.'

'Tell me about him.'

'Oh dear god, Ruth, you don't half know how to kill a mood.' He sighed. 'He's 27 and he's a drug addict; has been since...' Harry shrugged ' his late teens, I think. And when I found out I read him the riot act, I sent him to a therapist, I paid for rehab, I made his mother throw him out of the house...I did everything except talk to him.'

'Tell me about _him_, Harry. Not about what you did or didn't do to him.'

Harry stabbed ineffectually at a piece of chicken. 'Why do you want to know? I mean, it's not exactly pleasant dinner time conversation.'

'Not...?' Ruth's hand closed over his. 'Harry, he's your _son_.'

Harry swallowed. 'I know, I know. One thing there was never any doubt about. Chip off the old block, and all that.'

Ruth stroked his hand. 'He looks like you?'

'Well, I've no idea what ravages smack and crack and god knows what else have wreaked in the intervening years, but...' he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet, from which he extricated a photo. 'This is the last photograph I have of him.'

She took it. An angry face stared back at her, dark brown eyes, full lips, a riotous halo of blonde curls. 'He's beautiful.'

In spite of himself a flash of pride flitted across Harry's face. 'Like I say, dead spit of his old man.'

Ruth laughed. 'How old was he? When this was taken, I mean.'

'Nineteen. I took him to Italy that summer in the hope that some quality time with his old man might help in some way. It didn't.' He swallowed. 'Anyway, enough of Graham, eh?' He forced a smile.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry.'

'You didn't.'

Ruth took in his drained face and mentally kicked herself. 'How's the chicken?'

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Lovely, actually. Real stick to your ribs fare. I can almost feel it doing me good.'

'Good..good.' She was aware that Harry was watching her. She tucked a stray tendril of hair behind one ear and resumed eating.

The silence lengthened. Harry cleared his plate and leaned back in his chair, rotating his wine glass slowly between his fingers.

'Would...would you like some more?'

'No thanks, no, that was perfect.'

'More wine then?' She picked up the Chablis and tilted it towards him.

He placed his glass back on the tablecloth, his eyes searching her face as she poured. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be...' He sighed. 'Oh Ruth, why aren't we capable of spending a few hours in each other's company without it degenerating into awkwardness and upset?'

She pursed her lips, but avoided meeting his eyes. 'Don't be so disingenuous, Harry. You know perfectly well.' Her voice was barely audible.

He blinked. 'I'm sorry?'

'The bloody elephant in the room. How you feel about me. How I feel about you.'

He realised he'd stopped breathing. When he spoke his voice shook. "If this is your idea of a good time to tell me that you don't love me anymore, I...' He gazed at her, distraught.

Slowly she raised her head. 'Harry, I've loved you since the first moment I set foot in the Grid. It was your braces that did it, I think.' She smiles to herself at the memory. 'That and the Muttley laugh.'

'Muttley...?'

'When I asked if I was late and you said I should know, I was the intelligence officer, and you laughed and you sounded just like Muttley from...'

'Dastardly and Muttley. The Wacky Races. Yes I remember. But...' Totally bewildered at the course the conversation had taken, he pushed his chair back, stood up and went over to the window. It had started raining, a light, smirry, soaking rain. He was aware of Ruth's eyes on his back, knew that she'd be chewing her lip to shreds as she tried to decide what to say next.

She took a deep breath. 'The thing is...'

Harry felt his insides constrict.

'The thing is...one way or another I've lost every man I've ever loved, and having you just at the periphery of my life is far better than not having you in it at all. I'm not saying I'm a jinx, not really, I'm just saying that there's only so much loss I can bear and if I let myself...if I let you...If we...' her head dropped onto her palms. 'And another thing. I can't put you in a position again where you have to choose between me and...something else.'

He turned to her, uncomprehending.

'Cyprus,' she yelled.

Ashen faced, Harry started round the table towards her. 'Ruth, please tell me you don't hold that against me. You know the position we were in, you know I had no choice.'

She was dangerously close to tears now. Twisting her napkin around her fingers she tried to explain. "I know, I know, the rational, the work part of me knows. But the part of me that loves you and thought you loved me could only see that you were happy to betray me, to let them...'

'Happy?' he bellowed.'Happy? Ruth, if Lucas hadn't burst in when he did, they would have killed both of us whether I told them or not. Either way, I would have been responsible for your death and I would have had to live with it for the rest of my life. So all I could do was stall them, keep schtum and hope...'

Ruth eyed him. 'Sorry, Harry, but that's a load of bull. We had no reason to believe Lucas or anyone else knew where we were. Fact is, the job, the country, came first with you; always has done, always will. And as soon as people know we're together they'll try to get to you through me.' She shrugged. 'I don't want to put you in that position and frankly I don't want to _be_ in that position. Always second best, even when my life depends on it.'

Harry stared at her, appalled. Finally he found words. 'If it's what you want, if it's what it takes, I'll walk away from it all. I'll take early retirement. And if you want we can move down to Devon and live in the middle of nowhere and spend all our time making babies and watching _The Red Shoes_...

Ruth gave something halfway between a laugh and a sob.

He crouched in front of her, took her trembling hands in his. "Please, please, give us a chance. We're neither of us happy the way things are. I love you Ruth, and I want to be with you. I want to fall asleep every night with you in my arms. I want to wake up every morning with your body against mine. I want to be able to tell you all the stupid inconsequential boring things that are part and parcel of normal everyday life. I want to look after you when you're ill. I want to share your joys, your successes. I want to dry your tears when you cry. I want...you. Now and for the rest of my life.' His voice broke. Ruth realised that for the second time that day he was crying.

'Harry...' she took her hand from his and caressed the blonde head. 'Harry...I don't deserve you.'

He reared back on his heels, dragging his arm across his eyes. 'Yes or no, Ruth. I can't play games any more. Either we have a go at this or we decide once and for all that all we're ever going to be is colleagues. And...and I can do something about that, if need be. A transfer back to GCHQ. Or maybe you fancy a move to Six?'

Stunned, Ruth stared at him. He raised an eyebrow. Her head dropped to her chest, her fingers working nineteen to the dozen on the napkin.

'Well,' said Harry, tightly. 'I guess that's all I needed to know.' He stood up. 'Thanks for dinner. I'll see myself out.'

She heard his footsteps in the hall, the pause as he retrieved his coat, and then the front door slammed and he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Scarlet was generally the beneficiary of Harry's bad moods and that evening was no exception. By the time he snapped back to the present and turned for home they'd been on the heath for over an hour and it was beginning to get dark. Still, Harry reasoned, as he unlocked the front door, he had one content dog and a bit of fresh air and exercise was much better for him than what he'd initially considered the best cure - several large single malts. Following Scarlet into the kitchen he spooned Naturediet into her bowl and gave her fresh water, then bent down to scratch behind her ear as she wolfed down her meal. 'Sorry it's late, old girl. Hope it doesn't give you indigestion. Night night.'

Unbuttoning his shirt he trudged upstairs and into the ensuite bathroom. Glancing in the mirror he groaned. 'Must do something about that lighting, Harry Pearce,' he muttered, 'you look like death deep frozen.' Washed and stripped to grey briefs and a white tshirt he climbed into bed. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.

Scarlet hadn't barked. He hadn't heard anything. All he knew was, he was suddenly wide awake. He lay there for a few moments allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, then he reached into the bedside cabinet and pulled out his gun. Taking off the safety catch he went to the bedroom door and listened. Nothing. Gun poised, he eased the door open and edged out onto the landing. The other doors were still closed. Downstairs he went through the rooms one by one. There was no sign of anyone, or of anything having been disturbed. Even Scarlet yelped and twitched, sound asleep in her basket, oblivious. Quietly closing the kitchen door behind him he headed back upstairs. As he opened the bedroom door he tensed. At the far side of the room the shadows shifted. For some reason his hand reached for the light switch rather than the trigger.

'Hello Harry. Sorry about the subterfuge.'

'Dear god. What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?'

'Sorry.'

He strode to the bedside cabinet and shut the gun away. 'How the hell did you get in here?'

'I know I'm a desk spook, but I have picked up one or two tricks of the trade along the way.'

'Do I need to call a glazier, a locksmith?'

'Your faith in my abilities is touching.'

Harry stood, hands on hips. 'What do you want?' he asked levelly. 'As far as I'm concerned, you and I have said everything we need to say.'

'You have, maybe. I didn't get a word in edgeways.'

His eyes widened. 'You...? I bared my bloody soul, made a total fool of myself. All you had to do was say yes!'

'Ha! It was a bloody ultimatum, Harry. Marry you or lose my job!'

'What? It wasn't like that, and you know it.'

'It was _exactly_ like that. Right up there in the romance stakes with proposing to me at a funeral.'

Despairing, he laced his fingers together at the back of his head. 'I. Can't. Do. This. Anymore!' he gritted. Dragging his eyes from the ceiling he took in her downcast face. 'Jesus, he whispered. 'You can't even look at me.' He clasped his palms to his chest. 'I'm sorry,' he yelled, 'that this ageing, overweight body is so obviously sooo bloody repellent!'

'N-no, Harry, please.' Her mouth was suddenly dry. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the pain in his face, willing herself for once in her life to say the right thing. 'You're wrong. It's just...those shorts don't leave much to the imagination.'

A pause, then an incredulous snort of laughter. 'Well, I'm sure it's not something you've not seen plenty of times before...'

Muttered. 'Not quite that...big.'

Harry was aware he was blushing. 'And...and if you will break into a man's house at,' he checked his watch, 'a quarter past midnight, I don't know quite what else you could expect, frankly! Should I have remained suited and booted in my armchair, waiting for you to clamber down the chimney?'

He watched her as she crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed. All of a sudden she looked desperately tired and utterly miserable and he longed to take her in his arms and kiss the top of that forlorn head and tell her that everything was going to be alright. Instead he folded his arms and turned to the window.

'If you think we can continue to successfully work together, that's fine; you can stay on the Grid. I'm not one to bear grudges, you know that.' He dipped his head, as if awaiting her response. There was none.

'Well, if that's all,' he said stiffly, 'I'm due back at work tomorrow and after the events of the past few days I'd rather get some sleep first. If you wouldn't mind leaving via the orthodox route?'

'I'd rather stay, if it's all the same to you.'

His stomach flipped, briefly, then reality dawned. 'Ah. Right. Yes, I'd imagine the last bus has long gone. I'll give you money for a taxi. You can wait downstairs.' He reached for his wallet on the chest of drawers.

'Harry, please!' The despair in her voice made him pause. 'I know I'm as much to blame in all this as you are...and given what just happened to Catherine it's unforgiveable that I should be...that I should be...'

His tone was gentle. 'That you should be what?'

She took a deep breath. 'After you left I realised that I spend too much time dwelling on the past and envisioning worst case scenarios in the future. What I should be thinking about is the here and now, and I knew that if I didn't take a chance for once in my life that I risked not having you in my life at all. And that I couldn't bear. And I thought about what happened to Catherine and...oh god, Harry, all the old cliches about life being too short, and you never know what's round the corner...they're cliches for a reason and...' she realised she was rambling, and then Harry was taking her hands and pulling her to her feet and kissing her...oh so gently...

At 5.30am Harry's internal alarm clock fluttered his eyelids open. For a second he was disorientated by the long-unfamiliar feeling of a warm body pressed against his, the faintest trace of Chanel No5. As the memories of the early hours registered he gave an tremulous gasp, scarcely able to believe that what he'd dreamed of for so long might be about to become a reality. But the evidence lay there, wrapped in his arms. Hardly daring to breathe for fear of waking her, he considered that arriving at work after 7am might just be acceptable for once. As if he'd spoken these thoughts aloud, he felt Ruth stir.

'Mmm,' she muttered, sleepily. 'Is that a gun in your pocket Mr Pearce, or are you just pleased to see me?'

He nuzzled the crook of her neck. 'Oi. It's Sir Harry to the likes of you. And yes, it's a gun.'

Ruth intercepted a hand snaking over her hip and linked her fingers with his. 'Well, if that's the case, don't you think you should put it somewhere safe before it goes off?'

He grinned. 'Funnily enough, I know just the place.' 

**Thanks for reading, guys - and thanks for the comments, much appreciated!**


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